


Cotter the Potato Fucker

by UglyTurnip



Category: Game of Thrones (Video Game 2014), Object and Concept Anthropomorphism
Genre: Blame Telltale, Cargo Shipping, I'd stick my wiener in a potato if you gave me five bucks, I'm Sorry, Other, Random - Freeform, Shipping, crackfic, maybe not, shitpost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 00:46:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17457428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyTurnip/pseuds/UglyTurnip
Summary: It turns out Cotter actually does fuck potatoes. Huh, who woulda thunk it?





	Cotter the Potato Fucker

I didn't come to the lands of the kneelers solely for Sylvi's sake. Oh, certainly, I love my sister, and I would do anything in the world to protect her. Part of my plan to steal weapons from the kneelers was to protect the both of us from the dangers that thrive in the lands of the Free Folk, and every night that passes only yields more uncertainty about my sister. Is she alright? I trained her well, and she's got a good spirit in spite of everything, but is she ready to thrive alone? I wish I had never been caught.

No, the reason I came to the wall was because I knew there would be food. It's hard to grow anything edible in the frozen lands of my home, and meat isn't always as plentiful as it seems. Worse yet, winter is coming, and it's coming hard. Sylvi and I will need to "borrow" some food from the kneelers if we have any chance to survive. This is just as much for me as it is for her, though it pains me to know that she's all alone out there. Hopefully, I won't be in this hellhole much longer.

Luckily for me, I'm a pretty good thief. Sure, I got caught stealing a few weapons from some upstart lordling down south, but I talked my way out of a harsher punishment, right? Everybody thinks I'm nothing more than a potato thief. Well, either that, or a potato fucker.

Damn Finn and his jokes. Why does he have to tell everyone that I'm Cotter the Potato Fucker!? I'm sick of that man, and I'm sick of this whole fucking watch! At least Gared seems to feel the same. Speaking of Gared, I'd trust him to uphold his bargains more than the rest of these kneelers. He seems like he'd make a good friend.

Maybe I can sneak Gared a little food, too. Our rations aren't exactly plentiful, and if it means less food for Finn. . .

No! Cotter, snap out of it! You're doing this for your family! There's no reason to get Gared swept up in all this mess. Besides, I don't know if he can be trusted with my deepest, darkest secret.

It's not that I'm secretly one of the Free Folk; that's only my second-deepest secret.

It's that I _do_ fuck potatoes. For every woman I've ever tried to bed, I've probably fucked at least 20 potatoes. There's something about that starchy plant that really gets me going, but I'd rather not have anyone know about that.

And as I slyly sneak into the larders of Castle Black, there are three sensations that I feel: a chill in my back, a hunger in my gut, and a lust in my loins. It's time to satisfy all of my needs.

I reach into a basket that I know contains the most beautiful starch known to man, pulling out a single potato in the process. Sneaking back outside and finding a quiet place underneath the stairs, I gaze into my new tuber lover with lustful, wanting eyes. Despite the frigid temperatures, my cock is already rock hard, and I soon find myself unbuckling my belt and sliding my pants off. My cock springs into the icy air, throbbing with a deep, aching lust that only potatoes can satisfy.

Taking Finn's knife, I carefully carve a slit into the potato before placing a safe distance. Wouldn't want there to be an accident now, would I?

Finally, I just can't take it anymore. I want that potato pussy so badly!

I slip my dick inside the potato, feeling an intense wave of pleasure as I do so. In spite of my attempts to suppress it, a moan soon escapes my lips. I begin to thrust faster, forgetting rhythm as I mercilessly pound the everloving shit out of that potato. My eyes roll in the back of head as I fill the potato to the brim with my creamy wildling seed. My knees buckle, unable to withstand the surges of pleasure flowing through me, and I soon collapse onto the frozen ground.

It takes a second for me to collect myself, but I eventually manage. It's only when I look up that I spot Gared's horrified stare. He locks eyes with me, then shifts his gaze to my half-erect dick, then to the cum-filled potato, and then back to me.

"Seven _fucking_ hells," Gared whispers, his words barely audible.

I scramble to put my pants back on, eyeing Gared with a pleading look as I do so. "Please, _please_ don't tell anyone about this, Gared."

He pauses for a moment, probably considering my request, before ultimately nodding. "I. . . I guess I saw nothing. I'm not touching the potato soup ever again, though."

With that, he turns away, but not before shooting me a disgusted glance.

And that's how I knew for certain that Gared was pretty alright.


End file.
